Asylum Hill
by deathless-aspiration
Summary: A man, thought to be crazy, is swept away to Silent Hill, his reason for being unknown...and now, the conclusion...please read it!
1. Default Chapter

Chapter One  
  
Something's on my leg...stop! It's biting at my leg, it hurts! Stop! My face hurts, I can't move...where am I? What are you doing to me? Stop, please stop! Oh, my face, quit ripping at my face! SOME ONE HELP ME!!!  
  
The man jumped from his sleep, cold sweat pouring down his face and arms. He had goosebumps all over his body, and he quivered and shook, heaving, trying desperately to get air into his lungs. A young man in a labcoat unlocked the man's cell door and stepped inside, looking at him and gasping loudly as he looked at the man's legs and face. "Oh my God! Somebody get the medics in here now!," exclaimed the young man, rushing toward the patient. "What did you do to yourself this time, Wyatt? You're covered in blood!"  
  
"Blood...?," Wyatt looked down at his legs, his eyes widening and his mouth dropping. A deep red liquid oozed from underneath his blankets and dripped onto the cold, concrete floor, creating a puddle next to his bed. "Those monsters! Those monsters ripped me apart! You've got to help me, please. They'll come after me again, until I'm dead, please!?" He reached for the doctor's arm, but his hands were stained with his own blood. "Those monsters, those monsters...they ripped at me, pulling on me and biting me, please!"  
  
"Wyatt, you need to remain calm. Just lie still!" The doctor glanced sharply at the door as three medics rushed inside with a gurney. "Hurry up, before he loses too much blood!"  
  
Wyatt struggled against the medics as they attempted to lift him. "No, you don't understand! They're waiting for me, please. You've got to help me, help me get away from them, please!"  
  
The doctor looked down at Wyatt with a look of concern on his face. Wyatt then noticed his nametag; J. Smith. "Don't worry, Wyatt," Dr. Smith said calmly, sneaking a needle from his pocket. "You'll be just fine, trust me." He then slid the needle into Wyatt's arm, pushed down the tube, sending the liquid inside into Wyatt's vein, the slowly eased it back out.  
  
Almost instantly, Wyatt could feel the morphine pass through his entire body, easing his muscles and joints. He quieted down slowly, feeling his eyelids sink. "No," he muttered, "they're going to get me now...don't...you...don't you see?"  
  
"Yes, we see, " Dr. Smith said, slipping the needle back into his labcoat pocket. "We see, we see. Nothing is going to get you."  
  
*-----------------------------*  
  
Dr. Smith studied the information on a clip board that was given to him by a nurse. "I don't understand. When he's awake, he's perfectly fine, but these nightmares he has cause him to injure himself-severely, I might add. His CAT scan shows normal brain functioning, as well. What do you think?"  
  
"Well, " the nurse began, "I think that his nightmares are more than just nightmares. He sees things that have actually happened and is experiencing them."  
  
"You're a nurse, not a psychic. You aren't supposed to think like that. I want him under very close surveilance. Cameras, wires, everything, you understand me?"  
  
The nurse nodded and took back the clip board and walked out of the emergency room where Wyatt lay, sleeping, his legs and face bandaged. "I'm going to find out what's wrong with you, Wyatt...unlike that last doctor, Dr. Ward. I won't screw this up, Wyatt." 


	2. It'll Take You

CHAPTER TWO  
  
Dr. Smith strolled down the hallway of the hospital with two of his colleagues; another young man who looked to be about his age, but shorter and who wore thick glasses, and a woman in her mid-30s with her brown hair in a neat, tight bun. "I want to focus solely on Wyatt Waters," Dr. Smith said, gripping a manilla folder at his side.  
  
"You have other patients to be concerned with," the woman replied, rather sharply. "Wyatt should not be your sole concern."  
  
The other young man questioned, "How is his progress, any way?"  
  
"His progress is...unchanged. He still claims there are monsters after him, but any tests we run on him show that he is completely stable. I just don't understand any of this...right now, we have him under tight surveilance. Hopefully, we can find something out that way," Dr. Smith informed, still clinging the folder at his side, occasionally glancing down at it.  
  
The woman doctor looked at Dr. Smith questioningly, her green eyes trailing down to the folder in his hand. "Tell me, Dr. Smith, what is it you're holding in your hand so tightly?," she asked, with intrigue in her rather deep voice.  
  
Dr. Smith held up the folder slightly and answered, "It's a case report made by Dr. Ward about Wyatt. Apparently, Dr. ward was so involved in his case, that he went crazy and killed himself. I want to know what sort of information Dr. Ward found out about Wyatt."  
  
"Dr. Smith, I suggest you stay away from this case! Wyatt Waters is a deeply troubled man who has no salvation what so ever. He's been in this hospital for years, and nobody has ever been able to find out more than that fact. Give it up," the woman snapped.  
  
"Yeah, Dr. Smith," added the man with glasses, "You're a highly respected doctor, and this sort of thing will only hurt your reputation."  
  
Dr. Smith glanced back and forth between the two of them and remarked, "Youtwo are soundnig rather strange. Do you know something that I don't? ...You know it doesn't matter, because I'm not backing down on this case. I feel that I canreally help Wyatt through whatever it is that is troubling him."  
  
*----------------------------------*  
  
Wyatt glanced back and forth to either side of his head. He was strapped down to a bed; he could feel the belts on his forehead, arms, torso, and legs tightly binding him. His raspy breath echoed in the room, against the starch white walls. "Where am I?," he said, fear oozing from his cold, blue lips.  
  
From somewhere in a corner, out of eyesight, he could hear a whisper. The words were inaudible, but the whisper sounded much like that of a child. It sounded sad, and low-pitched. It also sounded close to Wyatt, sending fearful chills up and down his spine.  
  
"Go away!," Wyatt whispered sharply. "Get away from me, you monsters...leave me alone, please."  
  
There was a giggle, and the air grew much colder. Wyatt could see his breaths as puffs of steam, rising from his nostrils.  
  
Wyatt could feel hot tears formeing around his eyes. "What do you want from me? Why are you torturing me like this? Just let me be, please!"  
  
Suddenly, as fast as Wyatt could blink, atop his chest sat a little girl. Her hair was matted and her face was stained with blood and dirt. She held a small knife in her left hand and with her right hand, she touched his forehead. "You can't get out of Silent Hill. It'll take you!" She then stabbed Wyatt in the chest, his blood splattering on her face. Some had managed to lnd on her lower lip and she licked it away greedily. "It has you..you can't get out." She then disappeared, leaving no sign of her presence.  
  
Wyatt looked at his wound, which was spilling blood. He looked around nervously, trying desperately to escape his bondages. He stretched his legs, tearing his bandages open, and letting the blood spill from his leg wounds. Finally, realizing there was no way to escape, and feeling weakened from his ounds, he cried out with every bit of strength he had in him, "HELP ME! SOME ON PLEASE COME HELP ME!"  
  
Just then, a beautiful young nuse-in-training stepped into the room. She gasped shrilly and nearly fainted at all the blood that had gathered onto the white tile floor. She then yelled shakingly, "Someone call the medics to room 312! HURRY!"  
  
Dr. Smith heard the intercom calling for immediate help from medics to Room 312. He left his colleagues and ran the oppisite direction down the hallway, rushing to his patient. 


	3. Welcome to Silent Hill

CHAPTER THREE  
  
Dr. Smith looked closely at a series of videos that had been recorded in Wyatt's room. There was much static and it was hard to see much of anything. There were flashes of images showing Wyatt asleep, rather peacefully. Dr. Smith assumed it was due to the morphine. Then, there was anoth flash; fuzz. Dr. Smith tapped the top of the tv screen, not improving it. He could then hear low, muffled voices, like the voices of children. He heard feet tapping the tiled floors, but still could see nothing. "What in the world?," he muttered, scratching his chin.  
  
There was a scratch, like fingernails on a chalkboard and Dr. Smith cringed. The TV screen went back to normal, but the room seemed totally changed. Instead of starch white, the walls were a rusty color, and the floor looked much like mesh. Wyatt's bedsheets were stained, with what appeared to be dried blood and grime. "What's going on here?," he asked, anger rising in his voice. "Somebody switched tapes!"  
  
That's when he saw her-the little girl. She paced back in forth along the floor, looking at Wyatt's bed, walking in a rather robotic motion, her head shaking sharply every now and then. She held a knife in her hands, her hands enfolded on her chest. She then jumped onto Wyatt's chest and touched his forehead. There was no sound, but the fear in Wyatt's eyes told Dr. Smith everything. "Oh my God!...Wyatt...was attacked, but not by monsters!..."  
  
"It was me," said a small voice. "I did it to him."  
  
Dr. Smith looked sharply at the direction the voice came from. There stood a little girl with dark hair and dark eyes. She looked worn out, her hair was matted and sticking to her face in places, her skin was pale, but stained with grime and dried blood. It was the little girl from the video. Dr. Smith felt the air around him become unbearably cold and he shivered madly, his steamy breath rising from an opened mouth. "What are you doing here? Who are you?"  
  
The girl giggled. "You don't know? Mr. Ward didn't kill himself silly...it was me. Don't interfere with Wyatt! He's a bad man, and bad men get punished."  
  
"Bad man? What are you talking about? ...You killed Dr. Ward!?"  
  
"Dr. Ward is a bad man for helping Wyatt...you're a bad man for helping Wyatt..." The little girl crawled onto Dr. Smith's lap and wrapped her soft, rotted arms around his neck, her fingers twirling in his long ponytail. "Bad men get punished, and people who help bad men get punished."  
  
Dr. Smith cringed. He could smell the stench of death strong in her and her skin was ice cold and burned his neck. Her breath oozed against his cheek, and crawled into his nose, making him nearly gag and vomit. "I'm not a bad man...I just want to know why Wyatt is being--punished. Why are you punishing him?"  
  
The girl sighed, looking at the knife that lay neatly across her legs. "Wyatt was a very bad man, he was. I'm going to punish him...Silent Hill is taking him...Silent Hill is taking you all." She then clutched the handle and her eyes shot up at Dr. Smith. They were bloodshot and piercing- the eyes of an angered spirit, full of rage and unquenchable hatred for all those that still lived. "Silent Hill is taking you all- AND I'M BRINGING YOU THERE!" She ran the knife's sharp edge cleanly across Dr. Smith's neck, his thick blood trickling down from the wound and down his chest, his head dropping back and to the side. The little girl hugged him, her already stained dress becoming much more so. "Welcome to Silent Hill."  
  
*-----------------------*  
  
Wyatt opened his eyes feebly. The bondages that held him to his bed had been cut loose-with a knife, it looked like. Wyatt dismissed it and sat up, wiping his eyes. When they had adjusted, he looked about him. The starch white walls reflected the lights, hurting his eyes. He crawled out of the bed and stodd on the cold, tiled floor. Glancing once more at his bed, he turned to the door and turned the handle slowly, whish he was shocked to discover it was unlocked. The window on the door was blackened, so he couldn't see out, but he slowly pushed it open, finding himself in a whole other world. The walls, floor, and ceiling were a rust color, and in places, metal mesh showed through.  
  
He looked behind him at his hospital room. "This is strange," he muttered. He walked back inside, looking through the shelves on a counter in the room, finding a scalpel and a small flashlight. "These oughta come in handy," he said, walking back into the hallway, clicking the flashlight on, holding the scalpel tightly in his hand.  
  
The halls were empty, but in the distance, he could hear a noise like a pipe scraping on the ground, occasionally hitting the walls. Wyatt decided to avoid that particular end of the hallway, walking slowly, keeping his shoulder to the wall. He couldn't help but feel like he knew this place- the hospital, obviously, but he felt like this was also a completely other place, somewhere he'd never been, but somewhere he knew. Deep in his mind, he knew where he was, but yet, he could not put a name to this place. He kept trudging along the wall, hoping to find a fire exit so he could get out of the hospital.  
  
No nurses or doctors patrolled the hospital hallways. Wyatt assumed the worst-the monsters killed them all. He then spotted a door to his left. He tried to turn the handle, but the lock had been broken. He pushed on the door, but it wouldn't budge. Suddenly, from behind him, something hit his side-hard. He sprawled on the ground, looking up at what had hit him. It was a nurse-at least, it had the clothing of a nurse. He held up his hands, blocking a blow to his head, catching the pipe she held. She stumbled, and Wyatt shined the light of his flashlight at her, showing the area where her face would have been. It was blank and looked rather cloth- like, like a rag doll, and it was stained. Blood stains, obviously. Wyatt looked at his new weapon in his hands-a thick metal pipe. He grinned and swung it, knocking the monster in the head, sending her off her feet and skidding down the hallway. He then limped over to her, clutching his side and swung once more, killing her/it.  
  
Wyatt breathed heavily. "It's different this time," he panted. "I wasn't able to kill the bastards the other times." He smiled and chuckled to himself, still holding onto the pipe. "I can kill them now. I can get the hell out of here, finally!" 


	4. The Psychiatric Ward

CHAPTER FOUR  
  
Wyatt scanned the hallways with his small flashlight. It barely lit the walls, but at least it was enough for him to walk without falling over anything. There were gurneys strewn about the floor, some still standing, some lying on the ground. Some of the sheets were torn and tattered in places, stained with dirt and what appeared to be blood. The place looked as though it had been abandoned for years.  
  
Stopping at each door and turning the handle, Wyatt found no rooms in which he could enter. He had finally managed to make it to the center of the floor with no further encounters. He snuck to the desk, and made his way to the small space to enter behind it. As he stepped into the space, his foot collided with someting soft and wet. When he looked down with his flashlight shining on his foot, he jumped backwards in disgust, trying his hardest to keep from vomitting.  
  
There, on the ground, was a pile of bodies, with their skin tore completely off. They seemed to have had the skin devoured from them because Wyatt noticed what looked to be teeth marks on the arms and legs. He bit his bottom lip to keep from crying from the gruesome sight. He then noticed a shiny piece of metal on one of the shelves. He reached for it, his arm extending over the pile of corpses, and grabbed it. When he looked at the object in his hand, it was a handgun. He checked it for any ammo; it was fully loaded. He grinned at the thought of being able to blow the monsters' heads off then checked for any other items he might be able to pick up. Nothing important. He shrugged and walked away-cautiously, of course.  
  
Wyatt mumbled to himself. He was finding many useful items, but running out of places to store them. He managed to be able to hold his scalpel and flashlight in the same hand (his left) and the pipe in his other hand. He stuffed the barrel of the handgun into the back of his underwear, but it was becoming rather uncomfortable and shifty. He needed something other than his hospital gown if here were to get out of this god-forsaken hell hole with all of his equipment.  
  
Passing another door, he turned the handle-shocked, as it turned slowly. He pushed open the door, holding his pipe ready and his flashlight in front of his face. Luckily, there were no monsters in the small room, so he stepped in, closing the door behind him. It was just a janitor's closet, but he hoped he could find something useful inside. He peered around, finding no clothes he could substitute for his own. Pouting slightly, he kept looking. Then, he heard a strange noise. Jazz music? "What the hell?," Wyatt asked aloud, shining his light on a small radio. Picking it up, he shook it slightly, hearing it rattle. "Hmmm, what would I do with a radio?" Turning towards the door, he hit his left hand on a mop handle, causing him to drop all his items, including his only source of light. "Damn it all to hell!," he muttered. He groped around inside the bucket, looking for his lost items.  
  
He found his flashlight with little effort and tested it, thankful it still worked. He cut his fingers on the scalpel, cursed, and left it. It was useless compared to his pipe. The radio was then found and carefully picked up, but instead of soothing tunes, it gave a low static ring. "Damn," Wyatt said, "This place could've used some livening up, too." He shrugged and was rather thankful it had a small band which he could put his wrist through to hold it. Wyatt then opened the door to leave, but was nearly knocked off of his feet by another gruesome nurse.  
  
Wyatt caught himself, skidding his feet across the floor as he swung his pipe in an upward motion, slamming the nurse in the side, sending her to her feet, face-first onto the ground. There was a deep, agonizing moan as she wriggled about feriously, struggling to regain her composure. Her knees buckled backwards, snapping loudly. Wyatt winced at the sound; sinew colliding with bone, snapping and pulling. He could see her bones move underneath her pale, rotting skin. Finally, not wanting to withstand the torture of hearing the thing moan and grope about on the floor, he smashed the pipe into the side of the nurse's head, knocking it completely off and hitting it against a nearby wall. There was a splatter of brain and blood on the wall, and on Wyatt's hospital gown, which he had managed to keep relatively clean. "Damn it," he grumbled, "now I really have to find something decent to wear-it stinks already."  
  
The radio still continued a low buzzing as Wyatt wandered through the dark hallways. Occasionally, he glanced at it, but it still kept to its low static hum. Wyatt learned that he was on the fifth floor of the hospital, in the psychiatric ward-still. The only two fire exits on either end of the floor were both sealed shut. There had to be some way down to the floor below, but he couldn't find that way-at least, not yet. Still checking each door, he found a patient's room open and peered inside. The radio's hum lowered to a near silence. Wyatt stepped inside, peeking his head behind the curtain around a bed. Another corpse strewn out, its sking completely void. All that showed was muscle and bone. It was moist and gooey-looking, and blood oozed from under it onto the sheets and dripping on the floor in puddles. Getting rather accustomed to the corpses by now, he shook his head and looked around with his flashlight.  
  
The corpse must have been a doctor-there was a white labcoat(well, it was supposed to be white-there were bloodstains here and there, and a few holes ripped in it) with a nametag. Wyatt picked off the tag and looked closely at it. The name was scribbled off, but the picture was plain to see; a woman with deep brown hair tied in a neat, tight bun. Wyatt remembered seeing her around the hospital and sometimes in his room. He glanced at the body and muttered, "Sorry this had to happen to you." He then slipped the coat on and poked around in the pockets. A pen, suckers (obviously for little children. Wyatt unwrapped one and popped it in his mouth. "Not bad!"), and a card key. He looked at it carefully, reading what was on it aloud, "Level A card key. Access to lab rooms, chemical storage rooms, morgues, and offices above floor 4..." He puckered his cracked lips and creased his eyebrows. "Above floor 4? Damn, then I have to go upstairs to find another way out." He placed the card key back into his pocket, pulled the handgun from his briefs and placed it in the same pocket, and put his radio in his left pocket. Feeling relieved to have his hands free once more, he stepped out of the room, listening closely to his radio-the hum increased, but not by much.  
  
Wyatt pondered his situation. Here he was, a patient in a hospital because people thought he was "crazy" but now, who wandered freely about a completely destroyed building-with a level A card key, no less! He smiled to himself, thinking of all the things he could've done if he had managed to do all this while everybody was still alive-before this place-whatever it was-came into being. He still didn't know quite what had gone on, but he knew that those monsters had something to do with it, and that little girl...his mind snapped at the thought of that little girl. He recognized the face suddenly, but not from where. Wyatt knew if he wanted to know what was going on, he'd have to find that little girl. 


	5. The Other Survivor

CHAPTER FIVE  
  
The door leading up to the sixth floor of the hospital stood before a very flustered Wyatt. He continously swiped the keycard in the slot to no avail. The door didn't budge. He kicked at the door with his barefoot, smearing dirt and grime on it, leaving a large footprint. "Damn thing! I'll make you open." He took his pipe and swung it at the window in the door, shattering the glass. He cleared away the metal netting that was between each pane and proceeded to climb through.  
  
His radio let off a shrill static hiss. Wyatt jumped, moving his foot back to the other end of the door. From the other side, he could hear clicking noises, like a dog walking along the floor. There was a deep growl, then another answered it. "Dogs? What are they doing in the hospital?," he asked quietly to himself. He shined his flashlight on the figures; two creatures. Wyatt didn't want to call them dogs, for they looked as though they had been turned completely inside out. He saw their chests heave as they breathed, and with each exhale was a deep rumbling growl. They seemed totally oblvious to him.  
  
He pulled the handgun from his pocket and aimed it at one of the dogs and shot. Miss. This got their attention and they lunged towrd him, jumping through the broken window with no effort, and onto Wyatt, sending him to the floor on his back. He struggled to free himself from under the strong legs of the dog while swatting away the other with his pipe. It had managed to bite his leg and he screamed in pain and kicked it in the head. It had hit the wall, breaking its neck and dying instantly. Now, he just had to deal with the one on top of him.  
  
Wyatt punched the dog-thing in the head and it snapped at his fist, almost biting it, but with his other hand, he pulled the gun to its stomach and pulled the trigger. The dog's innards splattered everywhere, and it howled loudly as it fell and died. Wyatt's hand was covered with intestines and thick black blood and his hospital gown and labcoat was soaked with the same liquid and solid masses of intestine and other vital organs. Even his face had been been splattered upon, and he wiped it away with his clean hand and pulled the corpse off of him. He stood to his full height and glanced at the dog he had shot. Blood snaked from the hole in its gut. He shook his head and walked back toward the door, peering with his flashlight before stepping through the broken window.  
  
Once on the other side, he glanced at the little radio. Just a low hum. Sighing with relief, he trudged up the stairs that led to floor 6. Once he stood in front of it, he noticed that the door was unlike the ones on the floor below. The ones below looked as though they had years of rust and grime on them, but this door was untouched by the effects. He shrugged and pushed it open, walking through and letting it close behind him.  
  
The sixth floor was where the labratories were, along with much of the hospital storage. The morgues were further up-there were two morgues-one upstairs on the 10th floor and one in the basement. The upstairs morgue were where the patients would go when they died, while downstairs was the local morgue. Wyatt looked around, rather awestruck at the surroundings. It was completely...clean. The lights even worked on this floor. The gurneys in the halls were laying along the walls, the sheets neatly folded and starch white. Wyatt blinked against the bright light, being used to the dimness of his tiny flashlight and flicked the small light off and slid it into his pocket.  
  
The only thing strange about the sixth floor was the harsh light. The walls, floors and ceiling were bright white and the lights hummed above Wyatt. Wyatt found it to be more scary than the fifth floor. The quietness sent chills up and down his spine, and his bare feet tapped along the tiled floors, echoing in the halls. He made his way to the reception desk near the door and looked around the counter. There, he found a health drink and some bandages. Suddenly remembering his injury, he looked down at his leg. That dog-creature had managed not only to pierce his skin, but bite off a rather large chunk of his calf. His lower leg was soaked with his own blood.  
  
He cringed and wrapped his leg. The pain was very little, surprisingly, and he continued on his way down the emtpy hallways. He passed a particular door that caught his eye. Chemical Storage Room A. He creased his eyebrows and held his radio up to the door. It snapped and hummed quietly. Shrugging and gripping his pipe, he stepped inside. Instead of a monster, Wyatt was shocked to find another person sitting in a chair-a doctor. It was apparent from the labcoat, but he was turned away from the door. "Hello?," Wyatt asked cautiously. He took a baby step toward the chair.  
  
Slowly turning around, the doctor's eyes met Wyatt's. They held a shocked expression as they saw that Wyatt was no monster. "Who are you?," he asked slowly, his voice full of fear and exhaustion.  
  
Wyatt dropped the pipe's end to the ground casually and smiled gratefully. Another survivor! There had to be a way out then! "I'm Wyatt, I'm a patient here. Who are you?"  
  
The man smiled. "You're the one, then."  
  
Wyatt then became confused. "What are you talking about? What do you mean I'm 'the one'?"  
  
"You're the one...that caused all this. Why did you have to do that? Why did you do it, Wyatt?"  
  
"I don't know what you're talking about...what did I do?"  
  
"You really don't remember, do you? Well, it's not my job to tell you...but she'll be sure to remind you what you did. Silent Hill has taken you Wyatt, it has you in its grip. All she has to do is get her hands on you, and you'll fall into Silent Hill. There's no escape, Wyatt."  
  
Wyatt's voice then filled with fear and anger. "Silent Hill!? What are you talking about? Tell me, dammit!"  
  
The doctor laughed. "Silent Hill...is where you are. Nobody can escape Silent Hill, nobody." He then stood to his full height. From his pocket, he pulled out handgun bullets and placed them on the chair and walked past Wyatt without another word. As the doctor closed the door behind him, there was a loud crash and the sound of a roar.  
  
Wyatt jumped and took the bullets and loaded his gun. "He's in trouble!" He threw open the door and aimed his gun at nothing. Becoming rather confused, he lowered his gun and looked around. There was a small puddle of blood that wasn't his own, but that was the only sign of the doctor. "Whatever that was, I don't want to run into it...that poor doctor," he muttered, continuing on his way to look for some sort of way out. 


	6. What Did You Do?

CHAPTER SIX  
  
The halls of the sixth floor were silent, except for the ceasless humming of the florescent lights above. Wyatt's head rang with that humming, becoming rather annoyed of the nearly unbearable silence. Once again, nearly all the doors on this floor were locked tight. He trudged, losing hope, not finding even so much as another keycard to take him to another floor. His radio was silent, spitting out a crackle every now and then, but only because it was broken.  
  
Wyatt looked to his left at a door that led to a break room. He put his hand on the knob and turned it slowly. Finally, a door that opened! He stepped inside, closing the door quietly behind him. The room was empty, and with no light, so he pulled out his flashlight and flicked it on. A table, three chairs, a microwave on the counter, some shelves were open, showing styrofoam cups and a stack of paper plates. Wyatt shrugged and looke back again at the table. There, he noticed a manilla folder with his name on it. "What is this?," he pondered aloud, picking it up. "My case report."  
  
Sitting down in one of the chairs, he opened the file. There was a photo of him when he first entered the hospital, almost 6 years ago. Then, he pulled out some notebook paper with scribbled handwriting. "One of the doctors," he mumbled, "I can tell from the handwriting. They have a peculiar writing style." He then began to read it, with little trouble, noticing then it was from his past doctor, Dr. Ward.  
  
Day 07: Wyatt, the patient I was assigned to, is still refusing to speak with me. He sits with a blank look upon his face, and he apparently hasn't slept in days. His eyes are rimmed red and they are bloodshot. His hand twitches nervously as it sits upon the table, and he hasn't even touched his coffee. All I can do is stare back at him. What is in his mind that is troubling him so?  
  
Day 10: Wyatt is having bizarre nightmares. He keeps slashing at himself. He has cuts all over his arms and his torso. He claims that "monsters" have done this to him, but it is impossible. At least he is talking some now, but that is all he will tell me. He doesn't see these monsters, but he hears them and can feel them crawl on him. Perhaps hypnotism will be best to delve into the mind of this troubled man?  
  
Day 12: The faculty still hasn't decided whether hypnotising Wyatt will be safe. So, I think I will have to this secretly...there's no way I'll ever be able to save Wyatt if I do not find what is that mind of his.  
  
Wyatt paused his reading. "I don't remember any of this," he said. "Why can't I? It seems like smoe distant dream that only feels familiar to me. Why?" He then read on, his mind racing with questions, struggling to grasp the answers:  
  
Day 14: The hypnotism went rather well I should say, although now i can't get the images from my mind. I was not only to successfully be able to hypnotise him, but I was also able to clearly see what he saw. In his mind...there was an altar...lit with many candles...robed people stood all around the altar, their hands raised high, as if chanting. There were voices, but they were just whispers and I could not hear them very well. Wyatt...I suppose he was the figure in front of the altar, and he turned to look straight at me and he smiled...it frightened me. The smile on his face...was haunting, and his eyes...reflected the candle light and the seemed to glow with a strange power...was he in a cult of sorts?  
  
Day 18: Wyatt's images became more grotesque...there were corpses all about the altar,a pile of corpses with their skin tore completely from them exposing muscle and bone. Blood poured all around the altar and the fire grew more intense. Wyatt's smile faded as he dipped his hands in the blood of the victims and spread the blood on my face then his own. the other members copied him and as they did, they fell to the ground...and died. My vision also became very blurry and when I awoke, there was blood on my face and my hands and on Wyatt as well.  
  
Day 22: They are everywhere...the monsters. There is one in particular that I see often...a little girl. She is a very troubled little girl, and she holds a knife in her small, rotted hands. Her eyes...they burn into my soul and they terrify me. She tells me Silent Hill will take me and it will take Wyatt, too. She promised she would return for me and send me to Silent Hill...Silent Hill...that name...so familiar...I've woke with cuts on my legs, and claw and bite marks. They are eating at me and gnawing on me...I can't rid myself of them! Damn you Wyatt, why did you bring them to me, why!?  
  
Wyatt, put down the papers, his eyes full of shock and confusion. "What did I do that is so wrong...?" His voice then grew to a shrill yell, "Dammit all! Some one tell me!!"  
  
"I'll tell you," said a small voice. "I'll tell you everything."  
  
Wyatt's eyes shot toward the voice and they widened. It was her! The little girl! "Who the hell are you?," he asked, his voice shaky.  
  
She smiled, running her fingertip down the blade's dull edge. "You mean you dont remember me? That's okay, because you will...you're a very very bad man Wyatt!" Her eyes pierced into his, full of a quiet rage that she pent up inside her small, dead frame.  
  
"What did I do that was so bad? Tell me, I want to know. I want out of here1"  
  
"You can't leave! Don't you see? You're trapped here...this is your gateway...the gateway to Silent Hill. All the terrible things you did brought you here...what you did to your friends...what you did to me..." She then bowed her head, gripping the blade of her knife tightly, her palms filling with blood.  
  
Wyatt leaned down closer. "Wht are you talking about? I don't remember doing anything to anybody..."  
  
Her eyes then shot back upwards and then in a blink of an eye, she stood before him, her nose nearly touching his. "You murdered me! You murdered me...you killed me...and for that, you're going to pay!" 


	7. Twice Dead and the Conclusion

CHAPTER 7  
  
Wyatt stared at the girl before in wonder and shock. Finally, he said, his voice shaky, fear dripping from every word, "I don't remember ever doing such a thing! How could I be punished for such a crime when I don't even remember!"  
  
The little girl lowered her eyes to the knife that was in her tiny hands. "It was a long time ago...before you went here. You were in love with my mommy, but I didn't like you, and my mommy wouldn't be with you...you got mad and one day...you snuck into my room from my window and when I was sleeping, you put my pillow on my face until I stopped breathing...do you remember now?"  
  
Wyatt was silent. His pupils became dilated as she told him the story. Memories flooded his brain, making his head hurt, but he ignored the pain. All he could was stare at the girl with horror in his eyes. "You're getting revenge on me for killing you?"  
  
"Not just that..." There was a long moment of silence, before she continued, "You also hurt my mommy...she came to my room when you killing me, and you got scared and..."  
  
"Oh my God...I killed her, too...I remember..." Wyatt then jumped out of his seat, knocking the girl to the ground, and he yelled, "You're not going to take me to Silent Hill, do you understand!? It was a long time ago, and I've already paid for my crimes! Go away and let me be, you monster!"  
  
The girl stood to her feet and her eyes burned with anger. "No, you haven't paid-you're still alive! You'll pay when you're dead and if I don't take you to Silent Hill, somebody else will...you can't escape, Wyatt!"  
  
Wyatt pushed the girl back onto the ground and pulled out his handgun and aimed at the child. "I can escape...and I will. I killed you once, and trust me, I can do it again." He pulled the trigger and a bullet passed through the dead girl's chest and out her back.  
  
Heaving, she rose to her feet and scooted toward Wyatt. "you can't escape me, you can't..."  
  
Wyatt released another bullet, then another. Still, the child scooted toward him, black blood pouring from her wounds onto the ground. "Die, dammit! I won't let you have me!!" He fired his gun until the girl fell, and she moved no more. He bent down and pressed the barrel against her forehead, staring coldly at her. "It was so easy the first time, I remember now...you're so small and weak, even in death, Christy...and now, you've died at my hands once again." Once more, he pulled the trigger, and the bullet went straight through her head and deep into the floor. Dark liquid drained from the wound.  
  
Rising to his full height, Wyatt walked out of the room and closed the door behind him. He then knocked the knob off with his pipe and made his way down the hallway. Suddenly, he heard a strange noise. Like a deep, heaving breath. He looked around and saw nothing. Another noise followed; like a metal pipe hitting another pipe, loudly and echoing. Wyatt then looked down at his feet and he witnessed the floor deteriorate, showing rusty, mesh. The walls and the ceiling also morphed the same way and he jumped, trying to avoid it, but it reached out all over the hospital. He ran. There was a door at the end of the hall...a fire escape...he ran to the door, hoping and praying that it would open.  
  
Wyatt collided into the door and shoved it open. Yes! There was a flight of stairs...he ran up them as fast his feet could carry him...further and further up he ran, until he reached the last door that led to the roof. Stopping to catch his breath, he looked at the door, the gray metal door. It led to his way out of this hellhole, he knew it, he just knew it! He pulled open the door and stepped out onto the roof.  
  
It was foggy, such a deep fog. Wyatt could barely see his own feet. He gripped his pipe and strained his eyes, looking around him. It was quiet, and cold. His bare feet tapped the ground as he made his way to the center of the rooftop. Then, ahead of him, there stood a shadow. It was a woman. Wyatt could tell by the shape of her body and the way her flowed around her. "Hello?," he called out to her, walking faster, trying to reach her quickly.  
  
There was a whisper in the wind. "Stay back...you're going to pay..." Wyatt paid no heed to the whispers that circled around his brain and we continued toward the woman, slowly beginning to see the outline of her dress-a white gown, torn and tattered, and stained.  
  
When he reached her, he placed a hand on her shoulder-ice cold! Her dark hair flowed about her still frame and she slowly turned around. She had no face! Wyatt gasped and covered his mouth with his hand. No eyes, no mouth...just blank. Like a blank canvas. The whispers began to sound angry. "You killed her, my entire world, you killed her without a second thought! Then you killed me...violated me and killed me..."  
  
"No...I've paid for my crimes! Let me live!," Wyatt cried out, tears of horror streaming down his dirty, grimy face. "Let me live, please...I've paid for my crimes..."  
  
"Your crimes have gone unheeded...your memories were raped from you...you'll pay for those crimes, Wyatt..." The figure moved suddenly, and her arms embraced Wyatt in a death grip. "You'll pay for those crimes...Welcome to Silent Hill."  
  
Wyatt felt his body turn cold. "No...no, please, no...pl..." His vision faded and everything became dark as his life slipped away from him.  
  
"Welcome to Silent Hill, Wyatt...welcome to Hell." 


End file.
